Chicken Blood
by mandaree1
Summary: (Werewolf AU) After a strange break-in to Rolf's farm, the kids of Peach Creek investigate a theft of chickens with no real suspects and no real answers. Meanwhile, the time for a special ceremony is drawing near, and a small semi-newly formed pack of wolves are forced to scramble to get things together while also dodging increasingly suspicious friends.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ed Edd n Eddy!**

**Title: Chicken Blood**

**Summary: (Werewolf AU) After a strange break-in to Rolf's farm, the kids of Peach Creek investigate a theft of chickens with no real suspects and no real answers. Meanwhile, the time for a special ceremony is drawing near, and a small semi-newly formed pack of wolves are forced to scramble to get things together while also dodging increasingly suspicious friends.**

**Author's Note: First Werewolf AU!**

**(story title subject to change)**

**...**

One did not simply break into Rolf's backyard and expect to leave with all of their limbs intact. He knew that, knew it well, even, but desperate times called for even more desperate measures.

He'd tried the neighboring farms, but had been shooed away by terrified horses and old men with rifles filled with granite shots. The same with the odd farm truck that had happened to stop by, only with a dog involved. Ow. He was exhausted and out of options and had nothing really left to loose.

Unless, of course, you counted his tail, but he didn't give it much thought. One of the perks of having animal blood running through your veins was that you thought of the gain more than the loss, just like most animals.

In the daylight hours he knew he would regret not coming up with a plan and endangering both life and limb, not to mention his friendship with the foreign boy, but right now that didn't matter. What mattered right then was the smell wafting up into his nostrils.

Chickens. He grinned ferally.

_Perfect._

Hopping the fence, he landed on the ground and crouched, ears tilting to and fro to detect any movement from the house. His scent was masked, he'd made sure of that, but Rolf would wake up from a dead sleep from noise, not from smell. One could never to be to careful.

Nothing. Good. If he were careful, it might stay that way for awhile yet.

The cow munching grass regarded him with a familiar air as he crept across the lawn on all fours, not the least bit intimidated. He knew the cow had a name, it was on the tip of his tongue, even, but he never could quite remember names when he was in this state. Not that he could _say_ them even if he _did_ remember.

But that was okay. Lord only knew what kind of strange things he'd be grumbling under his breath if it all came out in English.

He'd been in Rolf's yard plenty of times of the years. He knew that. Vague images of unnatural pale and fur-less hands and feet and a quivering human voice that seemed so natural when the sun was up but so wrong when he was like this assaulted his mind. Kind of like how his fur and claws seemed wrong during the day. The only reason he knew it was_ Rolf's_ yard was because of the ingrained images from_ years_ of going through the fence gate and chattering on with the young farmer. Even in his distorted state, the place held a certain scent that was so _Rolf_ that it was impossible for him _not_ to recognize it.

He snorted irritably and wildly shook his head. Focus. He needed to focus. It was merely a battle of wills. He could do this.

The moon was mostly full. That was why everything felt so fuzzy, why he wanted to let everything go and act like a wild animal. He was longing for his pack. The smell of wolf in them was getting stronger by the day.

Pack. Pack was good. But they weren't a pack. Not yet. _Soon_.

Even after all the warnings he'd given him over the years, Rolf still kept the cages shut with a simple catch mechanism; a small metal hook welded into the side with a wood block shaped like a nail pushed as far into the hole as possible. A relatively simple system; something a desperate creature like himself could easily open.

He oughta build Rolf a lock after this was all finished. A show of gratitude, per say, masked as a show of friendship.

The poultry remained fast asleep as he crept closer. As a child he'd only had one or two chickens, but now Rolf kept them in groups of five or six.

_Perfect_.

The top of the cage fell open the moment he tugged the wood free, halted in it's owner-awakening noise by a set of hand-like paws easing it open and setting it on the ground. Then he ducked under the cage and waited.

It was only a few minutes before the first chicken woke and hopped to the ground with a flutter, startled awake by the sudden movement of its door. It glanced around, not catching sight of him just a few feet away in the shadows, waiting for the right chance to pounce.

The feeling was... exhilarating.

He waited until a couple more started absentmindedly trailing around the yard before slipping out of his hiding place and re-latching the cage without a sound.

A single bird dared turn around and catch sight of him. He smiled and fell to his fours.

The bird alerted its comrades to his presence, skittering across the lawn. He patiently followed, herding them, first into a group, then out under the wooden fence. He hopped the fence and chased after them.

He was gone mere moments before the lights in Rolf's house flickered on.

Herding chickens is a lot like herding cats when you've got no real experience, which he didn't. It took him hours of scrambling and hiding and nipping (never touching a singe feather on their heads, of course. It wouldn't do to hurt of kill them here.) to get them outside the Cul-De-Sac, and even longer to send them all scrambling into the forest. But he was patient, and it was more than worth it to have the ceremony go as planned.

The last bird disappeared out of sight just as the sky began to brighten. He muttered a low curse, which came out as a snarl, and skittered away.

Fine, then. There was always tomorrow night.

**Author's Note: The theft has occurred, and Rolf has been notified. So, who do you think is the culprit?**

**No flames! Don't like don't read! Review!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ed Edd n Eddy!**

**Title: Chicken Blood**

**Summary: (Werewolf AU) After a strange break-in to Rolf's farm, the kids of Peach Creek investigate a theft of chickens with no real suspects and no real answers. Meanwhile, the time for a special ceremony is drawing near, and a small semi-newly formed pack of wolves are forced to scramble to get things together while also dodging increasingly suspicious friends.**

**Author's Note: I thought it might be a good idea to mention that this is post-canon. They kids are all teenagers in here, 14-16 (Personally I lean more towards 14 or 15). **

**They've all been on-and-off friends (the Eds and the rest of the kids, I mean. The Ed's are, and always will be, inseparable) for a good four or five years, but the trust is still pretty thin between them. The Ed's are still the troublemakers of Peach Creek, and the Cul-De-Sac kids are always seeing through their attempts at getting sweets and such, just with a hint of fondness(?) rather than disdain.**

**(story title subject to change)**

**...**

"So let me get this straight; It's _boiling_ hot out, and you're_ outside_ in a _sweater_?"

Double D lightly tsked him, eyeing his work. "I'm _building_ a lock, Eddy." He tugged on his collar uncomfortably. "And we both know that I can't exactly wear short sleeves this time of month."

"Hmm." Was his only reply. "So that _was_ you, huh? At Rolf's?"

"I have no idea _what_ you're talking about. I was at home, watching a movie and waiting for the dishes to dry."

"Yeah. Right." Eddy chuckled, not believing it for a second. "I didn't know Rolf's lock was broken."

"It's not. Just extremely outdated."

"Yeah, and so is Rolf. So what?"

"Which is exactly why I'm merely constructing a simple combination lock, instead of one of those 'newfangled' fingerprint ones."

"They have those now? Cool."

Double D sighed. "No, Eddy, as far as I know, they don't. It was a joke."

"Oh. I knew that." The shorter boy flopped down on the ground beside him, watching with small interest as he tinkered with the hunk of metal. "Hey, Sockhead?"

"Yes?"

"Tomorrows a full moon. Didja know that?"

"Is it?" Double D dropped the lock in surprise, then scrambled to pick it up.

Eddy felt smug. It wasn't often he knew something his friend didn't. "Yup."

"Oh dear." He got to his feet, continuing his project as he walked, talking small steps so that, if he _did_ bump into something while distracted, it wouldn't hurt. Eddy followed. "Why, I've been so busy, I hardy noticed the days pass by. Curse summer vacation and its ability to make one forget the definite date. Where's Ed?"

"Hunkered down in his room, no doubt, reading a bunch of werewolf comics to 'prepare.'" Eddy's grin faltered. "So, uh, is it really gonna hurt as much as it looks like it does, or were you just pretending to scare us off?"

"I _was_ pretending, but not in the sense you're accusing me of. I've become mostly accustomed to the pain of transforming over the years, and don't make nearly as much of a racket when I'm on my own compared to when you both were around, but it still hurts. More than I made it out to, I suspect."

"Oh. We'd be as used to it as you are, if'd you changed us sooner, you know." His tone turned almost accusing.

"If you haven't realized this by now, Eddy, I never wanted to change you in the first place." Double D sighed and set the lock on the counter, grabbed a trash bag, and began cleaning out the fridge. "I'll have you know that I was more than content to remain the_ only_ werewolf in Peach Creek."

He didn't rise to the bait. "What'cha doing?"

"Preparing for an invasion of the were-Ed variety. There is no doubt in my mind that, once transformed, all Ed is going to be a danger to is my food stock."

"Oh yeah? What about me?"

"I have a collar and chain under the stairs in my basement." From when he was still skittish of his instincts, obviously. He used to lock himself down there practically every night, for a good year or so, until it finally realized he was mostly-mostly, mind you- in control.

"Hey!"

"Oh, hush. What were you expecting me to do; let you and Ed run around the Cul-De-Sac feral?"

Eddy blanched. "I thought you were kiddin' about that!"

"Eddy, this is about magic. I never kid about magic."

"Well, maybe you oughta. It'd make things a heck of a lot less scary."

"Hmm? I didn't quite catch that last bit."

"Nothing, nothing. What's the plan, Sockhead?"

"The same plan I used to have every month, Eddy. Stock the fridge, lay out some extra clothes in the bathroom in case of tears, and lock us all down in the safe obscurity that is my basement."

"A little _lock_ is gonna stop Ed 'n me?"

"I'll be guarding the door."

"Oh."

"Ed will be more interested in playing and eating than escape. _You'll_ be the one who will want to set up your 'territory' and push the boundaries. Simply put; you're my number one concern. As usual."

"Hey, what can I say? Its a gift."

The first few transformations are the most painful and the most commonly forgotten. It takes time for one's body and mind to adjust to turning, despite having the 'disease' for almost a month beforehand, time usually spent in feral bliss. Double D vaguely remembered waking up to find himself covered in blood next to a half-eaten piece of prey. Things like that e_ffect_ people, especially at such an impressionable age. He wouldn't allow his comrades to go through the same ordeal. Not if he could help it.

To sum things up in a more understandable fashion; they were going to be absolute nightmares the first week or two, but then they would slowly begin to gain human awareness.

Double D kicked the fridge door shut and calmly shouldered the semi-full trash bag (and it was really saying something if he was so busy that he hadn't even gotten to cleaning the fridge recently) out the door, Eddy following but not trying to help. "You and Ed are going to have to stay the night here. Every night. At least until I'm confident that you're capable of not getting into too much trouble on you own." Operative term; _too_ much. They were always getting into trouble; telling them to stop would be like telling to sky to stop being blue.

"Right. If anyone asks, it's our horror movie week."

"Right." People would believe that. They'd spent more than a few weeks sitting in front of a television over the years, watching some random movie marathon together. It'd be more out of the ordinary if they _weren't_ having some kind of movie night at least once a week, and a movie week at least once every month.

"Oh, and wear some looser-fitting clothes. You're not going to grow or anything-" They were changing form, true, but the human genes were still _there_, buried deep beneath the surface. No one was about to wake up one morning the height of a basketball star. "But things are going to shifting and forming and breaking, so one must not be to careful."

"Uh-huh. What're you going to do about the ceremony-thingy while we're running wild?"

"I'm going to complete it, of course. I'll just wait until you've tuckered yourself out before slipping out the door. I've got plenty of time."

Dropping the trash off by the curb, he shooed his friend away with instructions to repeat the advice he'd given him to their sci-fi fanatic friend and finished the final touches on his lock before walking over to Rolf's house, ignoring the twinge of guilt he felt as he did so.

_Drastic times call for drastic measures, Eddward. You did what you had to._

"Hello there, Rolf." He gingerly approached the taller boy. "In the wake of your recent tragedy, I thought it fitting to construct a handmade _strong_ lock to help ensure that it won't reoccur." Not if he could help it. "Think of it as my way of saying 'I'm sorry.'"

Rolf took the contraption without complaint, lost in thought. The boy stared at him curiously out of the corner of his eye.

"There is nothing to fear, Double D-Edd-boy. It was probably merely one of those unintelligent monkeys you call college tourists."

Double D attempted a smile. "I don't doubt that, Rolf. I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of things."

Rolf was perched on a chair, one leg draped across his other knee, restlessly jumping with the need to move. A hand cupped his chin as he stared out into the yard thoughtfully, trying to figure out what might have happened. While not normally afraid of him when unarmed, Double D found himself feeling mildly uneasy at the dark look on his face; bloodthirsty determination.

"You look like you have seen Rolf's chickens ruthlessly butchered first-hand, Edd-boy. It doesn't suit you."

"I thought they were merely-"

"Bah!" He waved the notion away. "They'll kill them, Rolf knows it. Why else would they steal his priceless chickens? But for what reason, Rolf cannot yet explain."

"Ah. You know, Rolf." He cautiously stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Some of life's greatest mysteries are the ones that are never solved."

Rolf jerked away, eyes flashing with anger. "Are you telling me_ not_ to go looking for my chickens, Double D-Edd-boy?"

Double D stepped back and shook his head, hands raised. "Of course not. I would never try to dissuade you from doing something you truly believe is right. I'm merely trying to suggest that sometimes, just sometimes, there isn't a real or logical reason when certain things happen."

"Hmm..." Rolf studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Rolf understands, Edd-boy."

It occurred to him that, had he said _yes_ to Rolf's accusation, then there was the small but real chance that the foreign boy might've listened to him.

Oh well. There wasn't much he could do about it now.

"Now, if would excuse me, I have some chores I need to attend to..." Stocking the fridge, laying out clothes, making sure the collar and chain hadn't rusted, etc...

"Of course." Rolf slowly nodded once again. "Rolf does as well, actually." Preparing the hunt, milking the cow, checking on what was left of the chickens, etc...

"It was good talking to you, Rolf. Be safe."

Rolf was going to scour the woods for his missing livestock, no matter what he'd have to go through to do so. Fine, then. Double D would just have to be more careful tonight than usual, was all. He could do this.

Double D shook his head and pulled in on himself with a shudder, remembering the bloodthirsty gleam in his friends eyes as he walked home. "Never again..."

Ever.

**Author's Note: The werewolf of Peach Creek; revealed! Anybody surprised?**

**Rolf's preparing a search, Double D's preparing a hunt, and Ed and Eddy are preparing to transform for the first time. Busy times. =)**

**No flames! Don't like don't read! Review!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ed Edd n Eddy!**

**Title: Chicken Blood**

**Summary: (Werewolf AU) After a strange break-in to Rolf's farm, the kids of Peach Creek investigate a theft of chickens with no real suspects and no real answers. Meanwhile, the time for a special ceremony is drawing near, and a small semi-newly formed pack of wolves are forced to scramble to get things together while also dodging increasingly suspicious friends.**

**...**

While few people knew it and even fewer acknowledged it, Jimmy's first name was actually James.

Well, at least, that's what his parents had scribbled down on his birth certificate. Double D had the sneaking suspicion that no one, in all his short life prior to getting a job at the nearby market, had ever called him by that name. Not even his parents.

Double D could sympathize, on a smaller scale. No one other than his parents called him 'Eddward', not even when he was little, and even then they communicated almost solely through sticky notes. Hearing someone call him Eddward was... weird, for lack of a better word. He could only_ imagine_ what the boy was going through.

Even still, there was something almost amusing about seeing the nametag on his chest half-covered in tape, covering 'ames' with 'immy' and generally irritating his higher-up, who watched him from his posts with a glare.

"They still haven't let up on that, have they?"

Jimmy grinned and set down the box he was carrying. "Oh, heya, Double D! Nope. I'm starting to worry they're gonna fire me."

"That sounds... a bit drastic, Jimmy." He commented, eyebrow raised. He grabbed a basket and trailed down the meat section. Jimmy followed. "Shouldn't you be working?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Break."

"Ah."

'Break' was the not-so-secret code word for 'bored out of my mind, and you're something to do, so here I am.' The people of Peach Creek were a mostly patient bunch, and no one said anything if a worker went on multiple 'breaks' to visit with friends. As long as the work got done, they didn't mind if it took a little longer than it would if you hadn't went on break. (The people of Peach Creek_ did_, however, have lot's of nervous ticks, like making a worker wear a nametag with what wasn't really their name on the front, for example.) After all, they were also _helping_ customers by watching over them, right? It wasn't _all_ bad, time-wasting nonsense.

Double D had heard it all before, even if he had never personally worked in the store. He had a pretty good idea how things worked.

"Stocking up?"

"Why, yes, Jimmy, I am. What gave it away?" He raised the basket _and_ an eyebrow.

"Huh." He hummed. "You never come this part of the week."

There were only two general stores in all of Peach Creek. A smaller, less expensive one he went to for the everyday things like toilet paper or toothpaste, and the larger, more expensive one he went to once or twice every few weeks for the not-so-everyday things like better quality meats and other groceries. 'Peach Creek Supermarket', the words boldly emblazoned across Jimmy's apron, was the later one.

Double D winced. Just as he was so stiff about his routines, the kids of the Cul-De-Sac expected those routines and decided something was amiss whenever he didn't uphold to them, which was usually the case. Frankly, however, he was surprised anyone had noticed_ that_ particular touch.

"Mother and Father had a small setback at work is all, I assure you. They'll have to stay out of town a few months longer than planned. They paid me a little early to inform me and apologize."

Jimmy's face falls. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's quite alright, Jimmy. We were all expecting it." Well, actually, no, he_ wasn't_ expecting it, but that was okay. It wasn't personal, and it didn't hurt. Not like it used to.

"You're getting more than usual." He comments to get out of the hole he'd dug, watching him set two large bags of chips into his basket. "Movie night?"

Right. There was a reason he was blowing his money on junk food he never really ate. Sarah, and, in turn, Jimmy, was one of the biggest gossip hounds Double D had ever met. It was best that their story starting circulating_ now_ rather than later. "Right on the money. Well, more of a 'movie _week_', actually, but you get the idea."

Jimmy grinned. "Cool."

It was probably saying something about his place in life when he could lie about something like this, badly, even, right to someones face, and have it go over without a hitch. He just wasn't sure what.

* * *

><p>Double D had (mostly) grown out of his pocket labeler, and he didn't have labels on every single item in his house anymore. Sometimes it drives him up the wall, not having labels everywhere. Sometimes it bothers him more that he <em>does <em>have labels scattered about.

It's for that very reason that both his room and the kitchen are left as they always were. If he gets to frustrated by his room, he could sleep on the couch. If he can't stand how_ bare_ everything was, he could retreat to his designated safe rooms.

(That, and he isn't quite certain if he's allowed to take off all the sticky notes scattered about the kitchen. There might be an important message mixed in somewhere, or something. He wouldn't want to lose something important.)

Even still, the labels still provide him a certain form of comfort that stems back to the days before that dreaded night, of those rare nights he could actually go to his parents after having a nightmare and sleep with them (as few as those memories were). Either way, something about seeing everything labelled makes him sigh in relief and stress floats off his shoulders, if only a tad.

That, and it made finding things that much easier ("Hey, wheres-") ("Check the sticky notes. You'll find it eventually.")

Maybe he was just obsessed. Or maybe it was a permanent side-effect of his O.C.D. Whatever the case, he didn't worry over it for to long. It was weird, it worked, it was_ him_. That's all that mattered.

Ed and Eddy had long stopped caring, and he doubted they would even blink if he stuck a sticky note on top of each of the sets of spare clothes he stored away under the sink in his bathroom. One for Eddy, one for Ed. Perfect. Although, he had to admit, he _did_ prefer one over three, but three was a pretty nice number.

Usually.

Double D didn't mind being alone, honest. He knew most people hated the sensation, but he personally had nothing against it. Welcomed it, even. After all, Ed and Eddy, not to mention the rest of the Cul-De-Sac, were only a short phone call away, if needed. He had nothing to fear, being on his own.

"Them's fightin' words." Was Eddy's response to the declaration that he was perfectly content to be alone in his 'werewolf-dom' (as Ed had put it). Double D had thought they'd taken it as a joke, but he was wrong. Very,_ very_, wrong.

_"Now you don't have to be alone anymore."_

_"You'll thank us for this later, Sockhead. I'm sure of it."_

_"We've always been three, Double D. What happens to you, happens to us."_

Oh, curse them and their foolish kindness.

Because now he wasn't alone. And_ that's_ what scared him, especially right now, when things were so dangerous.

"I'm afraid I've made a grievous error, it seems. But I won't make it again. I'll fix things, Ed, Eddy, I promise."

He could do this.

"I'll make sure of it."

He won't have another lost friend. Not because of this.

Not if he can help it.

Right. He shook himself out of his thoughts and hurriedly stood. "Busy, busy, busy."

He had preparations to finish.

**Author's Note: Poor Double D. He's trying _so_ hard. =)**

**No flames! Don't like don't read! Review!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ed Edd n Eddy!**

**Title: Chicken Blood**

**Summary: (Werewolf AU) After a strange break-in to Rolf's farm, the kids of Peach Creek investigate a theft of chickens with no real suspects and no real answers. Meanwhile, the time for a special ceremony is drawing near, and a small semi-newly formed pack of wolves are forced to scramble to get things together while also dodging increasingly suspicious friends.**

**...**

**AngelZ Of DarKness- Thanks! =)**

**...**

While Double D wasn't particularly fond of them, cliches were not unlike routines, and, while the term usually made him frown, he knew that some cliches, like routines (or breaks from them) were unavoidable.

Like the cliche that transforming into a werewolf hurt. Which wasn't, in his opinion, a cliche.

And that was okay. Double D was used to a little pain. Being the continuous punching bag of his peers for more years than he cared to count had its perks, he supposed.

(Of course, things hadn't been that bad in many, many years now, which he was more than a little grateful for.)

But this wasn't just a beating forced upon him by his (not at the time) friends. This was about a pain that he, a pacifist by nature, had pushed upon his two best friends, knowing full well the consequences. And that was what hurt the most.

Ed and Eddy had known. Had seen it first-hand, even. But they still refused to back down. Double D didn't know whether to scream or hug them for it. (He choose neither, of course, but it was the thought that counted.)

They weren't the only ones who knew, either. Not in a technical sense, at least. The Kanker sisters left the odd bit of leftover lunch meat (which he hated when he was human but _loved_ when he wasn't) on the porch step for him. Whether it was a lack of 20/20 vision or just a refusal to see the truth staring them in the face, the Kanker's honestly seemed to believe he was a stray dog ("Musta escaped from the circus or somethin'. It's why he's so good at tricks.") and Double D wasn't about to inject logic and reality into a situation best left the way it was- on a river in Egypt.

(And, okay, if he were to be technical about things, he was pretty sure that his parents had at least a vague idea on what was wrong with him. He was also sure that was why they had moved in the first place- a fresh start; or an easier way to lie-, were gone so often- 'The trip is going to take longer than expected'- and why no one complained when the food bill was a bit higher that month than usual- 'I just happen to prefer the more expensive meats at the local market, mother. I'm sorry. Love, Eddward.'- No one had asked him about it since.)

While that was three people too many for his liking, it was also far better than, say, the entirety of Peach Creek knowing- especially at a time like this. Rolf would hunt him down without a second thought for harming his precious chickens (and their friendship), and the townspeople would be too terrified to see reason.

Speaking of chickens. His nose twitched. Good, they were still in the forest. He breathed a soft sigh of relief. Much easier to hunt them down that way.

The cliche that werewolves never remembered anything after their transformation was, in fact, not quite true. Some pushed the memories away, others didn't understand them, and still others refused to believe them. The mind was simply dulled down at night; more feral, less understanding. He could still remember being human, just like he could remember _not_ being human; he knew what was going on, but he didn't_ understand_.

Even when he was like this, he admitted to himself as he slipped into the forest, he still wasn't a good hunter. Even when feral, he lacked the capabilities of hunting; the only reason he was even able to hunt the chickens was because they were _Rolf's_ chickens, who had known him since forever, and, so long as they didn't catch sight of his body and register that _something wasn't normal_, they didn't care if he was nearby or not.

Which was probably for the best, he decided, preparing to pounce from behind a small hill. Otherwise they'd all be doomed.

He had _just_ managed to bite the bird around the neck and twist it when a twig snapped. He sat back on his haunches, ears twitching. It was all the warning he got.

Blue-hair (whatwashisnamewhatwashisnamewhatwas-) burst through the buses with a banshee yell, swinging what looked to be an old-school pitchfork around like it were a baseball bat.

He yelped, dropped the chicken, and grabbed the pitchfork with clumsy claws. They struggled, but he was stronger, and yanked it out of his hands. A cuff to the head (just hard enough to knock him out- and _ohmigoodness_ he had blood on his _paws_) did the rest.

Well, that was probably easier than it should have been.

Tossing the farming tool aside, he grabbed the chicken, looked over the fallen boy one last time (why did he feel so weird?) and took off for his house. He slammed the door, fumbled for the lock (which he wasn't sure why he needed to mess with but he knew he needed to make it move) and slumped down to the floor, back against the wood. He spat out the chicken.

Well, that could've gone... better.

His stomach churned, although for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. So, instead of worrying about it (which he would do plenty of when he was furless) he curled up and went to sleep.

Two weeks was plenty of time. Blue-hair, had he been on his side, probably would agree.

**Author's Note: No, Rolf's not dead. Just really, _really_ mad. =) What does everyone think?**

**And even werewolf Double D is a pacifist. Things are just a tad more complicated. **

**No flames! Don't like don't read! Review!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ed Edd n Eddy!**

**Title: Chicken Blood.**

**Summary: (Werewolf AU) After a strange break-in to Rolf's farm, the kids of Peach Creek investigate a theft of chickens with no real suspects and no real answers. Meanwhile, the time for a special ceremony is drawing near, and a small semi-newly formed pack of wolves are forced to scramble to get things together while also dodging increasingly suspicious friends.**

**...**

**Author's Note: Whelp. No new reviews. Oh well. =)**

**...**

Double D cleaned before every transformation (pretty much every night) and before any and every movie night. It was a tradition, routine, and an instinct all wrapped up in one.

Despite the increasingly bad situation, he did not ignore the routine. The routine was part of the reason he had been able to get away with his transforming as long as he had (that, and his two best friends running some excellent interference on his behalf). Any and all animal fur and smells were effectively eliminated under the forces of antiseptic and a practiced hand.

Double D deposited the broom into the closet and pulled off his rubber gloves. The sanitation mask went next. Cleaning had always had a calming effect on him, and he felt his shoulders loosen as he looked over the spotless kitchen. Granted, it was only going to get dirty later, he knew, but the momentary peace he felt was more than worth it.

A knock on the door had him hurrying out of the room, taking the moment to fluff a couch pillow before pulling open the door.

"Double D-Edd-boy."

Double D swallowed, guilt welling up in his chest. "Good morrow, Rolf. How goes the search, if I may ask?"

Rolf didn't have any bandages on his head. He didn't even look like he was suffering from a headache. Double D knew better. "Rolf plans on taking a group into the woods tonight to search." He glanced at the spotless living room without even a hint of surprise, face blank. "Movie night, Edd boy?"

"Yes, actually. I wasn't aware you were planning a search, or I would've rescheduled."

"Rolf does not mind. We aren't going to search for Rolf's chickens, Edd boy. We are... after something much more_ sinister_ than a chicken thief."

Double D swallowed for a second time, refusing to let himself wince and tip the farmer off. Coming from Rolf, that _meant something_. And the sentiment hurt. "Invasive species from another country?" Not his best lie, but it'd do. "I heard about a species of insect that has recently-"

"Werewolves."

Double D paused, unsure how to respond. Rolf didn't wait for him to speak, raising a hand for silence. "Rolf knows you do not believe in such things, Double D-Edd-boy. I will not force you to agree with me, or come with me. Just... keep this with you, please. For Rolf's peace of mind."

He grabbed his hand and placed the wood handle of a small garden fork firmly into the palm, closing his fingers around it. "Please."

Double D smiled wide; fake and nervous. "Of course, Rolf. Happy searching."

"Happy _hunting_, Edd boy, and thank you." A shiver ran down his spine.

Only after Rolf had shut the door, small smile on his face, did Double D dare to look down.

He yelped and threw the gardening tool as though it were poison, which it was.

The handle may have been wood, but everything else was pure silver.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." His companions were due over in an hour, and it just wouldn't do if they came over just in time to see a silver _gardening tool_ pointed at them (although the symbolism might tickle Double D later). It was far too early to interject worry into the situation. Stress made the transformation that much harder- impossible sometimes, even.

So Double D swallowed the instinctive fear, grabbed the very edge of the handle, speedwalked it into the kitchen, and stuffed it into the back of a cabinet for later. Rolf, in a few months, once this was all over, would come by, certain that the danger had passed, and ask for the tool back. It was probably some sort of old country family heirloom. Double D would graciously give it back, and that would be the end of things.

Eddy walked into the house with the walk of a man who knew what he was doing even when he was really clueless. "Let's get this party started."

Ed was a tad more hesitant, but that didn't hinder his usual practice of giving him a big hug. "Is it gonna hurt, Double D?"

"Yes, Ed, it is. But you'll get used to it."

His lip trembled, but he didn't argue. "Okay, Double D. I trust you." Which was, in its own right, part of the issue.

Double D grabbed some water and snacks, then led them down the old basement steps, locking the door behind him. Eddy and Ed nervously lounged around the room, while he sat just in front of the steps.

Eddy leaned against a wall and slid down to the floor. "So, what's this I hear about a werewolf hunt?"

Double D cringed, but didn't deny it. "I... wasn't as careful as I ought to have been. It will pass."

"Yeah, but the ceremony thingy won't."

"I was planning on enlisting the help of the Kanker sisters."

"_Those_ psychos?"

"As long as they get half for their own merit, I don't see why they would be against helping me hunt down the chickens I need."

"I don't wanna hunt chickens, Double D." Ed said, face pale.

"Don't worry, Ed. I don't expect you too. I left a bunch of food in the fridge to occupy you while I'm gone, and Eddy, until you get a hold of yourself, I refuse to let you out of this basement. I'll be the only werewolf leaving this house the next few weeks."

"What about the hunters?"

"It'll be fi-" The room pulsed. Double D fell to his knees. Over the blood pounding in his ears, he vaguely heard his companions do the same. "It's nothing I can't-" He broke off with a groan, but Ed and Eddy probably got the hint, so all was well.

He fell to his side, content to stay there until the change was over before finally sitting up and moving about the room.

* * *

><p>"Whattaya want?" Lee snapped as she thrust the trailer door open.<p>

"Kanker sister! Rolf and company-" He gestured to the group of teenagers behind him, all armed with varying degrees of weapons- from household objects to full on knifes or silver silverware. "Were wondering if you heard anything peculiar these past few nights?"

Under her mop of hair, Lee blinked at them. "I ain't heard nothin'."

She went to slam the door, but Rolf thrust his foot in the way.

"Lee! What's goin' on out there?" Marie called.

"Some Cul-De-Sac nimrods are interrogatin' me!" She answered, then turned back to them with a snarl. "What? I already told ya I ain't seen nothin'."

"Then perhaps you have_ seen_ something strange. Of the canine variety, perhaps?"

"No."

May poked her head around her older sister's shoulder. "Wait, are you askin' about Fluffy? 'Cause I ain't seen 'em in _weeks_, and I'm gettin' worried."

**Author's Note: Told you Rolf wasn't dead. =)**

**No flames! Don't like don't read! Review!**


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